


A Reason to Stay

by deesaster



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Feelings, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Supportive dwarves, very sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deesaster/pseuds/deesaster
Summary: “Well, it’s been quite a while since the battle.” Almost two months, two months he has happily spent in Erebor, being with his friends, watching the Mountain come back to life.He thinks about it all again. There’s nothing keeping him here, he has done his job, Erebor and its treasure are Thorin’s, exactly as they planned nearly a year ago in Bag End. He has lingered in the aftermath, and he should return home, since there is virtually no reason for him to remain here.Except… home is where the heart is, after all. His heart is definitely not in Bag End anymore, but with the very Dwarf before him. However, this is not a good enough reason to stay, not when he knows his feelings will never be reciprocated.“So, I’ve been thinking of heading back home.”Thorin stills. The kind smile on his face vanishes slowly.





	1. Bilbo

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic is not beta-read and the writer is not a native speaker.
> 
> I've been struggling with a very similar scene for my WIP Bagginshield monsterfic, [Hear Me Out ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5864947/), but then I realised this would make a good plot bunny on its own and so, here we are :D
> 
> Please enjoy and leave kudos/comments if you'd like!

Bilbo Baggins is not a fearful Hobbit. Nor is he a shy, timid one, for that matter. He thinks he has rather proved that throughout this entire unbelievable journey, from being brave enough to leave the comfort of his home, to facing a fire-breathing dragon, countless orcs, giant spiders, and whatnot.

And yet, he finds himself lingering in front of a simple, harmless door, hesitant to knock, as if he is about to face a beast far, far worse than Smaug.

He had never thought that the hardest part of it all would be leaving and saying goodbye.

Several weeks have passed since the Battle of the Five Armies, and Erebor has been slowly coming back to life. To Bilbo’s utmost relief, all of the members of the Company have preserved well through the battle, having only minor scrapes and cuts to pride themselves with in the aftermath.

Thorin had given them a scare, after he had passed out after his duel with Azog, out of which he came out victorious, but it was nothing that a few days of bedrest and Óin’s questionable bedside manners could not fix. Bilbo spent those days by his side, feeling compelled to keep the King company as he recovered.

Since then, Bilbo pretty much had nothing else to do around Erebor, as rebuilding and clean-ups commenced. Of course, he has been helping around, but he mostly gets in the way of the more proficient Dwarves. So, he chooses to rather hang out with Ori in the library or with Bombur in the kitchens instead. Thorin sometimes invites him to participate with him in meetings with Thranduil and Bard, but Bilbo is not an avid fan of politics. He does not have much to say, but he joins Thorin nonetheless, just because it would mean spending time in the King’s presence.

After Thorin had apologised for his behaviour before the battle and asked for Bilbo’s forgiveness, they have been getting along better than ever. In other circumstances, had it not been for the gold sickness and other… factors, Bilbo would have long headed back home, without even caring about what the King has to say to him. He did his job, and he did  _not_  do it for Thorin Oakenshield or his gold.

Except that he actually did. Not for the gold, of course, but for what the gold meant: the Dwarven people’s home and legacy. But mainly, he  _did_  do it for Thorin. Somewhere along the way, Thorin’s leadership, passion, and unwavering loyalty have seduced him. The result? Him facing a dragon for Thorin. Him running to Ravenhill through an entire army of orcs, to warn Thorin and his nephews of Azog’s other army. Him distracting Azog enough for Thorin to finish the blasted orc off. How could he not forgive Thorin? It would have been impossible not to forgive him, his heart would not have allowed it.

In other words, he is still in Erebor, reluctant to leave, because of Thorin. And the Company, of course. He will miss them all terribly. But Thorin, especially. For reasons that have been clear to him for some time. It is far from an appropriate thing, but he has come to terms with it.

He had set himself a limit. A deadline, to be even more precise. His job and duty to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield would officially be terminated the moment a crown is set upon Thorin’s head, in a legit ceremony. It is only logical, is it not? A coronation would most certainly fulfill his purpose of helping the Dwarves reclaim their ancestral home. So, Bilbo had promised himself he would head home after that happens.

The thing is, the coronation already took place a couple of nights ago, and since then, Bilbo has been trying to find the right moment to mention his intentions to the Company, or to Thorin himself. It is not like he looks forward to his departure, or even wishes to return to Bag End. He loves Erebor and the Company, and he was shocked to discover weeks ago that the feeling of homesickness has dulled in time, and is now almost non-existent.

But why would such a homely Hobbit like him remain and dwell in a mountain? It would be unheard of. Adventuring is one thing, his mother had done it, and a few other Hobbits before him—mostly Tooks, of course—but all Hobbit adventurers have  _always_  returned home. Settling in Erebor is completely against Hobbitish nature.

Besides, there is also the matter of him overstaying his welcome, since his presence here is now as useless as wet tobacco. The weather pushes on as well, he should leave before the real snowstorms start clogging the roads. It is indeed time for him to go back to Bag End.

The King is the first who should know of his intention to leave. He might as well have chosen Balin or Bofur as the first people to hear of it, but deep down, he knows that he cares most about what Thorin has to say about it.

So, he finally finds the strength to knock upon the door to Thorin’s chambers, heart beating fast.

There’s muffled noise coming from inside the room, before the door opens, a kingly dressed Thorin on the other side of it. Bilbo’s breath catches in his throat when his eyes meet the King’s steel blue ones.

“Bilbo!” the Dwarf exclaims, moving aside. “I was not expecting you. Come in,” he says, welcoming Bilbo with a smile that the Hobbit cannot help but return just as warmly.

From the looks of it, Thorin had been buried knee-deep in paperwork before Bilbo interrupted his afternoon. His desk is a mess, pieces of parchment stacked haphazardly, drops of ink on the sparse patches of free wooden surface.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything… I can come back later if you’re busy—” Bilbo says, involuntarily looking for a way out of the impending discussion.

“Nonsense, I was long overdue for a break anyway,” Thorin declares, with a dismissing wave of his hand. He turns his back to Bilbo, attempting to organise his desk, as if he does not want Bilbo noticing his orderliness, or lack thereof. “Take a seat. What brings you to me this fine afternoon?” he asks, giving up on the collapsing stack of papers. He leans against the desk, facing Bilbo with an encouraging smile etched on his elegant features.

Bilbo takes a seat in an armchair near the desk. He considers bringing up his issue right away, but that stands against his principles. Besides, he wants to prolong his time with Thorin, even though the King probably has duties that await him. The messy desk is more than enough proof of that.

“How have you been? I’ve seen very little of you since the coronation,” Bilbo says, going for small talk.

“True. This desk and chair have seen a lot of me since then, and let me tell you, they do not make for good companions. I did not know that taking back the throne would involve this much bureaucracy, otherwise I would have let Smaug keep it.”

Bilbo chuckles. “I’m sure Erebor appreciates having a leader who doesn’t breathe fire, though.”

Thorin’s smile widens into a grin. “It might appreciate it indeed. But I’m fairly certain you’re not here to check on my progress with paperwork. Unless Balin has sent you to do so?”

Shaking his head softly, Bilbo fiddles with the buttons of his coat. “No,” he says nervously, avoiding Thorin’s eyes, “Balin didn’t send me.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow, expecting a more concrete reply. “I’m glad for your visit nonetheless, Bilbo,” the King tells him, on a tone Bilbo knows is meant to coax out the real reason behind said visit. When Bilbo fails to say anything, he continues. “But tell me, my friend, what is on your mind?”

Bilbo takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing.

“Well, it’s been quite a while since the battle.” Almost two months, two months he has happily spent in Erebor, being with his friends, watching the Mountain come back to life.

He thinks about it all again. There’s nothing keeping him here, he has done his job, Erebor and its treasure are Thorin’s, exactly as they planned nearly a year ago in Bag End. He has lingered enough in the aftermath, and he should return home now, since there is virtually no reason for him to remain here.

Except… home is where the heart is, after all. His heart is definitely not in Bag End anymore, but with the very Dwarf before him. However, his fervent infatuation with Thorin, for he does not yet dare to call it love, is not a good enough reason to pursue longer residence in Erebor. Not when he knows his feelings will never be reciprocated.

All those weeks, he has illogically raked his brains, trying to find a plausible excuse, but he has come up with nothing. This was bound to happen, in the end, anyway. “So, I’ve been thinking of heading back home.”

Thorin stills. The kind smile on his face vanishes slowly. “If that is what you wish, I shall make the arrangements. However, I must remind you that you are more than welcome to stay in Erebor for as long as you desire. You have forever earned your place amongst us, and I—we would be saddened by your departure.”

Bilbo’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. This is what he has been fearing. Thorin encouraging him to stay, even though it is a shallow request, with no true reason behind it. He finds himself wanting to say ‘yes, yes, of course I’ll stay,’ but that certainly is not the appropriate answer.

He bows his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Thorin, but I feel it’s time to return to Bag End.”

Thorin nods once, face stern and purged of any emotion. “Very well. You will have to make haste, unfortunately, if you wish to depart while the weather still allows it. There are reports of great blizzards approaching from the North.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Bilbo simply says, not knowing what else to add.

A pregnant pause settles between them. Thorin lowers his head, as if he is silently considering something, while Bilbo continues fiddling with his buttons, pulling so harshly that he almost rips them away from the cloth.

“Is there anything else you wished to tell me?” Thorin asks after a while, adopting a more serious tone. Bilbo has spent enough time near him to know that this is akin to his kingly voice of authority. A mask he puts on for his subjects.

“No, that’s all, I think,” Bilbo replies weakly, avoiding Thorin’s eyes. He stands up, deeming this to be the end of the conversation. “Thank you again, Thorin. I’ll leave you to your paperwork.” And he turns toward the door.

“Master Baggins!” Thorin calls out to him, straightening up and stepping forward.

Bilbo turns on his heels so fast that he almost loses balance, heart instantly feeling with hope. Realising that Thorin did not use a more familiar way of addressing him, part of his hope is instantly crushed. “Yes?” he asks, voice almost breaking, brimming with anticipation.

“I hope you know that you are welcome to visit Erebor, at any time, whenever you wish,” comes Thorin’s reply, with a formal intonation that seems thoroughly impersonal.

Letting disappointment flow through him, unable to stop it, Bilbo bites his lip. “Of course I shall visit, you won’t get rid of me that easily,” he says, attempting light humour in spite of his heart starting to break.

“Good,” Thorin states. “I’ll see you at dinner, then,” he adds, lifting the corner of his lips ever so slightly, formality fading from his voice. Bilbo returns the gesture with a small smile of his own.

The Hobbit finally takes his leave, hurrying back to his room with a heavy heart. He has a lot to pack.

 

* * *

 

Fíli and Kíli take the news much worse than the rest of the Company. They protest vehemently, and when Bilbo ignores them, still set on making preparations for his departure, they even sneak into his room and unpack everything that Bilbo had carefully arranged up until then. Thorin had chastised them, but they seemed unapologetic when faced with the consequences of their childish actions. Ultimately, they did apologise to Bilbo, and still begged him not to leave just yet, to winter here at least. They teared up when Bilbo shook his head.

Bofur simply looked at him with sadness, nodding and understanding. Bilbo never told him of his feelings, but he thinks that Bofur has known all along, somehow. He hugged Bilbo publicly when he announced that he would leave. During the friendly embrace, Bilbo accidentally made eye contact with Thorin, and noticed something tense and fierce in the King’s expression. Bilbo didn’t know what to make of it.

When he heard of Bilbo’s plans, Bombur went out of his way to put together supplies for Bilbo, loading many satchels with dried meat and fruit, bread, along with other snacks. Bilbo almost teared up when Bombur showed him the carefully-prepared food, the larger Dwarf enveloping him in a bone-crushing embrace.

Ori was affected by the news as well, making Bilbo swear he would visit soon, as well as obtaining permission to stop by Bag End whenever he and his brothers would have business in Ered Luin. Bilbo was delighted to see that all the other Dwarves requested the very same permission afterwards, and he obviously encouraged them all to use it.

As a matter of fact, all the members of the Company make efforts to spend as much time as possible with Bilbo in his final days in Erebor. Even Dwalin puts aside his cold demeanour to sharpen Bilbo’s blade and offer him advice should he encounter beasts in the wilderness. Bilbo is not sure he needs that advice anymore, after all he’s been through, but he appreciates the gesture nevertheless.

Óin provides him with medical supplies, then gives him a thorough check-up before deeming him fit for the journey; Balin takes him aside one evening, and they have a long talk, as though they are old friends who have not seen each other in a long time; Bifur gifts him three small wooden figurines sculpted by him, one of Bilbo himself, one of Smaug, and one of Thorin—the last one makes him blush a bit, wondering about Bifur's reasoning; Glóin, similarly to Balin, has lunch with him one day and they share stories and laugh together late into the afternoon; Dori tailors him a fine coat to keep him warm on the road, which immediately becomes his favourite thing to wear; and Nori does what he claims is the kindest gesture possible, returning all the small tokens and belongings he had nicked from Bilbo over the course of the year, things that Bilbo had not even noticed went missing.

That makes twelve. Twelve companions who have bid their farewells to Bilbo in their own way. Their party, however, has always counted thirteen Dwarves. And it seems like the thirteenth one is actively avoiding Bilbo, for some reason.

Bilbo catches on almost immediately, but chooses not to do anything about it. He busies himself with the preparations, refusing to dwell on the fact that Thorin barely greets him at mealtimes and stopped inviting him to meetings or on their usual walks together around Erebor. It bothers him, of course, it goes without even saying.

The only time Thorin approaches him between their talk in his chambers and the day of Bilbo's parting, he does so with the intention of discussing business. The King calls him to the treasury one morning, a small chest overflowing with gold and jewels placed at his feet.

“I know you have decided to give your share of the treasure to Bard and his people so that they could rebuild Dale. That was very kind of you, but I simply cannot let you leave without some part of it, however small it might be. I know you will not take more than this, and that you will want to refuse it, but it would offend us if you did so. This is my legacy, our people’s pride, that you wish to refuse. We do not hoard it for its worldly value, but because it is our craft, our calling, our essence. Do me the honour of accepting it, Bilbo.”

And Bilbo does, even though it is not an easy thing to carry all across Middle Earth, even though he does not truly need that ridiculous amount of gold. But it is a part of Thorin, so he gladly accepts it.

 

* * *

 

The day he set for leaving comes far too soon. He wakes up at the crack of dawn, disappointed by the chill in the air. It is as if the wind and sky itself fight against him, trying to prevent him from leaving. But what is established, is established.

He’ll be traveling on his own to Dale, and from there on, one of Bard’s men will escort him to Mirkwood. Thranduil also ensured him safe passage through his domain, and he’s supposed to meet Beorn at the other end of it, who offered to see him safely to Rivendell. Gandalf will await him there, and travel with him all the way back to the Shire. Bilbo has it all planned.

He takes his luggage, and helped by Dwalin, he loads it onto the pony that will be carrying it. They walk together to the gates of Erebor, where eleven other Dwarves are solemnly waiting for him.

Fíli and Kíli have tears in their eyes, still quite upset about Bilbo’s decision. They hug Bilbo anyway, with all their might, and promise to visit as soon as they have the chance. He receives similar hugs and promises from all the other Dwarves, but none of them coming from the Dwarf he truly wants to embrace.

He discreetly asks Balin about Thorin’s whereabouts, but the old Dwarf simply shakes his head, adopting an expression of regret, as if Thorin being there was his responsibility. It most certainly was not. Thorin’s absence can only have to do with Bilbo, if it has to do with anything. But Bilbo does not know what he did wrong, what he did to offend the King in such a manner that he will not even utter a simple goodbye.

He wished he could have at least seen Thorin for one last time. To memorise the kingly features, the kind blue eyes, the elegant line of his nose, the soft-looking dark tresses resting on his broad shoulders, so he could recall them all vividly in his reveries and dreams.

He wished he had the guts to confess his feelings. But he knows he is just an ordinary Hobbit with no station whatsoever, who should not have any business aspiring at a royal’s love, a royal who is not even of the opposite gender, who is not even part of his own race. It is perhaps better that he did not face complete heartbreak by confessing, it would have been his end.

With a heavier heart than ever and tears welling up in his eyes as well, he grasps the reins of his pony tightly, preparing himself to walk away. To walk away from the only love he has ever known, who has not even given him a chance to say farewell.

After all goodbyes are said, he steps out the gate.


	2. Thorin

Thorin watches the commotion at the gate from his balcony. Hands tightly held together at his back, brow high and eyes unyielding, the fur of his coat ruffled by the cruel wind. He bites the inside of his cheek, revolted by his own weakness. How cowardly of him.

He feels like a fool, standing tall and watching from afar how his One leaves him.

But what could he have done? The Hobbit does not belong here, as much as Thorin wishes him to. If he would have uttered a single word about the love he has been harbouring for so long, it would have served as even more reason for Bilbo to leave. And never come back, on top of that. And plainly asking Bilbo to stay, without a proper reason, so he could come up with a plan—courting, perhaps, trying in _some_ way—felt like a deception he could not have seen through.

He had no choice. None whatsoever. Distancing himself from Bilbo was the wise thing to do, so he would not risk giving himself away and ruin the friendship they have. He knows he might have endangered that friendship by not being at the gate today, but he could not have made it through the ordeal. He would have taken Bilbo in his arms, held on tightly, and carried him back to Erebor, probably confessing his love at the same time. His blood would have demanded it, and his heart would have called for it.

'It is better this way,' he lies to himself. He has been lying to himself since that fateful night in Bag End.

He is not a young Dwarf. Whatever time he has left, the time he has to spend without his One until Mahal takes him back to his halls, is insignificant compared to the time he has spent waiting for Bilbo all his life. Assuming that heartbreak will not take him earlier than he anticipates, he has enough time to train Fíli for kingship and bring his kingdom to its former glory. It will suffice. It must be enough.

Bilbo goes through the gates, taking Thorin’s heart away with him. He watches the Hobbit gain distance, until he is no more than a small dot on the horizon, disappearing into the winding road leading down to Dale. He does not know how much time passes.

“You are an idiot, Thorin Oakenshield,” Balin’s voice suddenly echoes on the balcony.

Thorin did not notice the intrusion, eyes still fixed on that point where he last saw Bilbo. He does not know how long he has been gazing, but he is somewhat aware of the fact that he cannot feel his face, nor his hands, on account of the cold.

Poor Bilbo. He let him leave on such harsh weather. He can only pray that the Hobbit can fend off the cold, regret filling up his guts.

“You will regret it for the rest of your life. You will _fade_ , Thorin, do you realise that?”

“Of course I do, Balin,” Thorin barks out in anger. “But he will not. He did not belong here.”

“You fool. Have we not all said that he is one of us now? That he’ll always have a home in Erebor? He obviously belongs here! I’ve offered to recreate Bag End here for him, to put together a garden for him to tend, thinking maybe I could convince him to stay if I did that. Do you know what he said? He said he hardly cares about that anymore. He didn’t leave because he was homesick, Thorin, he left because he felt like he wasn’t needed, because the one person who mattered most didn’t ask him to stay.”

Balin’s yelled words are like a hard slap to his face. He is not sure if the wetness in his eyes is brought by the wind or by the tumult in his chest. If Balin is saying the truth, then…

“Fetch me my pony.”

 

* * *

 

Thorin rides like he has never ridden in his entire life. He barely stopped to take his sword, not even bothering to don his armour. But he did remember to take the amber beads he keeps by his bed, tucked away safely in a velvet pouch, hidden in a drawer of his nightstand. The beads he made the first night after his recovery, the beads for which he relit the fires of Erebor’s ancient forge. The beads he is so sure would never be worn.

Balin was right. He is an idiot and he will regret this for the rest of his life. He has this one last chance. Maybe, just maybe…

Bilbo is leaving anyway. The only risk would be Bilbo’s potential future visits to Erebor. Two or three encounters at the most, which would be filled with heartbreak either way.

At least, if he does this, he will be able to live with himself. He will fall asleep quicker at night, he will set an example for his nephews, and he will have an excuse not to take a queen. It is the right thing to do.

Bilbo also deserves to know, does he not? If they were in reversed situations, Thorin would want to know. But he is biased, unable to think straight, so he is not truly sure he would. Bilbo might not understand the workings of the bond, its intensity, its purity and might, but he should have the right to know, to make a choice. Thorin knows that the Hobbit does not have much of a choice to make, but at least it is his last cry against fate.

As about the rejection, Thorin thinks he can take it. He has dreamt of it, cursed nightmares in which he bares his heart out to Bilbo and Bilbo walks away. They have prepared him, he has lived it many times over. And Bilbo is not a cruel being, he will turn Thorin away with a modicum of respect toward him.

But Balin’s words have given him hope, expectations that he now imagines could become real. He expects the upcoming rejection to hurt even more than he predicted. And yet he rides on, pushing his steed to its limits, anticipation eating him up inside. This is going to ruin him, and he knows it.

He catches up with Bilbo before they enter Dale, to his relief. The conversation that would follow should not be held so publicly. His arrival startles Bilbo’s pony, consequently startling Bilbo as well, who turns his head in his direction, eyes widening when he realises who has just caught up with him.

He dismounts quickly, approaching a stunned Bilbo with sure steps.

“Thorin…? What are you doing here? I thought—” the Hobbit tries to convey his surprise, overwhelmed by Thorin’s unexpected arrival.

Thorin grabs Bilbo’s elbows in his hands gently, searching for Bilbo’s doe-like eyes. He meets them, and his heart fills with emotions he cannot truly name.

“It has come to my attention that I have not let you know my thoughts on your departure. I did not wish for you to leave. If anything, I would have very much liked to beg you to stay. But I could not, my dear Bilbo, because that would have meant to bare my heart, something that I was not ready for before. But I am now. Bilbo Baggins, I have loved you since I first saw you and I will love you until my very end. You are my One, my soulmate, and even though I am not worthy of your love, I will always yearn for it and I shall wither without it. If you were to return to Erebor, I would make every possible effort to prove to you that I could provide for you, care for you, and make you happy. I cannot let you leave without you knowing this, and if you hold even the smallest speck of affection for me, please consider returning to Erebor. You do not have to return my feelings in any measure or even say anything now, but I beg of you—”

Thorin does not get a chance to finish his plea, because a pair of lips crashes into his own, a warm, sweet mouth meeting his. He barely registers Bilbo’s body pressing against him, after nearly jumping at him to reach him, lithe arms hanging tightly to his shoulders. The first brush of their lips together brings Thorin to life, making him reply ardently, his own arms searching for Bilbo’s waist, circling it and lifting the Hobbit up gently, for the sake of comfort and angle.

Bilbo sighs into his mouth happily, allowing Thorin’s tongue to meet his own, the mere press of lips suddenly not being enough. Thorin hums back, bring up a hand to bury it in Bilbo’s soft curls, deepening the kiss. Bilbo’s own hands find Thorin’s neck and jaw, relishing in the warmth of Thorin’s pulse as they map new territory.

Their noses crash together painfully, fingers grasp what they find for purchase, breathing becomes erratic, lips melt into each other in a desperate dance.

“I love you, too—I love you so much, Thorin, so much—you have no idea…” Bilbo whispers fervently against Thorin’s mouth, in between kisses.

His heart bursts wide open at the Hobbit’s declaration, and he has to set Bilbo back with his feet on the ground, and take a small step back, so he could verify its sincerity. The sight awaiting him is everything he has been coveting. His Hobbit eyes him endearingly, his cheeks are flushed, lips appear to be beautifully bruised, hair mussed into a halo of curls. His heart breaks, right then and there, but for a whole different reason than it did earlier this morning.

“Do you, truly?” he asks incredulously, placing a hand on Bilbo’s cheek and brushing his thumb against soft warm skin.

Bilbo leans into the touch, then, as if he is unable to keep his distance, brings his arms back around Thorin, resting his head against his chest, and he holds on tightly. “Yes, you romantic oaf,” he confirms, voice muffled by the fur of the Dwarf’s coat. “I’ve loved you for as long as you claim to have loved me.”

Thorin closes his eyes, relieved by the confirmation. He cannot really believe his ears just yet. “Will you come back with me?” he whispers, placing a kiss on the crown of Bilbo’s head and hugging the Hobbit back.

“I would be insane if I didn’t,” Bilbo replies, detaching and searching Thorin’s lips with his own.

This kiss is less urgent, more languid and thorough. They explore each other’s mouth like they have all the time in the world, each press of lips, each brush of tongues redefining the meaning of intimacy. Bilbo’s fingers tangle themselves into Thorin’s mane, blunt fingernails scraping at Thorin’s scalp and making him gasp, while Thorin’s own hands find their way underneath the Hobbit’s coat, seeking the hot skin of his hips.

When they part, regretfully, many minutes later, Bilbo hazily smiles up at him like Thorin has just hung the moon, making Thorin’s heart flutter. Then, out of nowhere, the smile disappears, and Bilbo slaps his arm with all the power his smaller body can muster.

Taken aback and frightened he might have overstepped a boundary, Thorin panics. “Bilbo…?”

“That’s for almost letting me leave for good! Couldn’t you have told me all these beautiful things earlier? I’ve been packing and crying for days, you dolt! It’s gonna take me ages to unpack and settle in again…”

Thorin laughs, truly laughs, for the first time in many days. “I shall properly apologise to you when we reach Erebor, if you’ll let me.”

Bilbo raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “You’d better.”

Overjoyed, Thorin chuckles again, lifting Bilbo up and placing him on his steed, which sadly did not get a proper chance to rest after Thorin’s race here. “I’ll send the ravens cancelling your arrangements of travel when we get back,” he adds, taking Bilbo’s hands into his own and placing a kiss upon the knuckles of each.

“Tell Balin to do that, I have plans involving you, and I will not have my soulmate run errands when I’ve just finally gained him.”

Thorin smirks. “You possessive little thing,” he says, adoringly.

Bilbo shrugs, then leans down to kiss Thorin again, innocently. “Come on, I’m freezing. Let’s hurry back to the mountain,” he says urgingly, pulling at Thorin’s arm to encourage him to mount.

Thorin simply smiles, and takes the reins of the pony carrying Bilbo’s luggage. He then mounts his own pony, Bilbo’s back pressed flush against his front. Bilbo huddles into him immediately and they take off, following the road back to Erebor.

In that moment, something occurs to Thorin. “My love?” he asks tentatively. “If you have loved me all this time as well, why did you leave without telling me?”

Sensing the fact that Thorin is bothered because cannot see his face, Bilbo entwines his fingers with Thorin’s, where they are holding the reins of the ponies, in a reassuring way.

“For the same reason you didn’t tell me until now, either, I suppose,” he replies, honesty clear in his voice. “But I don’t think I would have made it through my first night on the road. I would have left Dale in the middle of the night and ran all the way back. You would have woken up in the morning with a frantic Hobbit at your door, telling you how much he loves you. Although I probably would not have been as eloquent as you were.”

Thorin plants another kiss against Bilbo’s curls, and tightens his arms around the Hobbit. “I would have wrapped you in my arms and kissed you nonetheless,” he replies, loving the way in which Bilbo snuggles up against him.

“Good. That’s what I would have wanted you to do,” Bilbo’s voice is carried by the wind. “I love you. It feels so good to finally say that,” he adds, like he is sharing a great secret. His fingers brush gently over Thorin’s knuckles, studying them.

Thorin’s happiness reaches a maximum he did not deem possible. “I love you too, _ghivashel_ ,” he replies in a heartbeat.

“What does that mean?” Bilbo asks curiously, twisting his head in a try to see Thorin’s face. Thorin takes advantage of it, kissing the cheek turned toward him and nuzzling it with his beard, making the Hobbit giggle.

“It means ‘treasure of all treasures’. It’s not even close to compiling my feelings toward you, but it’s the next best term.”

“Yavanna, I’ve never thought you could be this romantic,” Bilbo says, and Thorin does not need to see his face to know that the Hobbit is blushing.

They settle into a comfortable silence, going at a small pace so that they do not strain their steed. Soon enough, Bilbo falls asleep into his arms.

When they reach the gates of Erebor, Thorin is not surprised to find Balin and his nephews waiting for him. It could have been just him returning, he realises. He thanks Mahal a thousand times over in his mind, for granting him the miracle sleeping against his chest.

At the sight of said miracle, Fíli and Kíli throw their hands up in the air, ecstatic, while Balin shakes his head, smiling at the same time. He shushes them, then gently rouses his One. “Bilbo, love?”

The Hobbit yawns, lazily opening his eyes. “Have we arrived? Oh, hi there, boys. Balin.”

Frowning at the sniggers coming from his nephews and giving them a silent warning, Thorin dismounts and helps Bilbo down as well, entrusting the ponies to Balin.

In any other situation, Bilbo would have now suggested elevensies and then he would have tried coaxing the princes into helping him unpack, but this time around, Bilbo seems rather eager to make his way directly to the royal wing, for some reason.

Thorin cannot complain. He rather looks forward to finding out what his One’s plans are.

 

* * *

 

If the Company are surprised to see the two of them show up for breakfast the next morning, hand in hand, they do not show it. They also pretend not to notice the stubble burns on Bilbo’s jaws, or the pattern of discernible love bites adorning Thorin’s throat.

But they do offer their sincere congratulations upon seeing the courtship braids neatly woven in Bilbo’s hair, held together by precious amber beads.

Bilbo’s luggage, as it turns out, had to be packed anyway, because Thorin asks him to move in his wing, in the consort’s rooms. At least until the wedding, after which he can decide if he wants to move in Thorin’s suite. But there are a few months until May, so the consort’s chambers will have to do for now. Bilbo was quite adamant about a May wedding. Among other things, of different nature, all of which Thorin was more than happy to offer.

As about the previous night—and day, actually, because they spent almost twenty-four hours locked in together, undisturbed by the world—well, it was spent presenting Bilbo with more than just a simple reason to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this fic at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please leave kudos and comments, if you'd like, I would appreciate it tons <3 Thank you for reading!


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